


no complaints

by sventheolsen



Category: Killing Eve (TV 2018)
Genre: Consensual Kink, F/F, Friends With Benefits, Gratuitous Smut, Infidelity, Knifeplay, Murderous Frenemies, Porn With Plot, jfc this show, who allowed jodie comer to exist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 18:00:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14939150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sventheolsen/pseuds/sventheolsen
Summary: “Stay for three more minutes. Or else I’ll chop your boy assistant’s balls off.”She laughs dryly into Villanelle's neck, inhaling her trademark scent. She has long figured out the levity behind her threats. “Fuck you if you do that.”Eve lets herself get coerced into a love affair with a murderous fugitive. Excellent career progression prospects involved, of course.





	no complaints

  1. **_week two_**



It’s all about power, Villanelle realises.

She’s throttling into Eve slowly, her hips raised in the air and her gorgeous hair sunned across the pillows. The air smells rank and musty, like they had been fucking for days. If MI5 were to find them now, they’d probably kill them both. Eve moans in breathy, staccato stops that seem to be in rough tandem with the thrust of her own hips. Her petite chest rises and falls with each breath. She finds herself sinking into the moment like before one of her kills.

More importantly, true power comes when she seems to let the other have it.  

“Turn around,” Eve blurts abruptly, while her thighs were locked above Villanelle’s own shoulders, as the strap-on ground inside her. Eve bit her lip, her eyes glassy from probably many orgasms, but she tilts her head forward like she means it.

She blinks. “Okay - is there something wrong - am I too big for you?” Villanelle smirks, but released the pressure from her hips. She felt the disappointing pop of the toy sliding out between Eve’s porcelain thighs, the wetness from their lovemaking now trailing across their legs to the bed.

Eve shifts uncomfortably, scratching the back of her neck. It is strange that this nervous woman was the same who clung onto her desperately moments before. “No,” she replies, sitting up, the firmness of her tone taking them aback. “I want to be on top.” She looks directly into her eyes this time, fierce as if Villanelle would object. She shrugs instead. “Alright, baby.” She is met with a glare for the nickname, but she chortles childishly as she slips herself back into the sheets. 

Eve is looking -  _ god,  _ Villanelle must look away before the strain against her clit becomes too much. Yet she can feel the heat of her stare dragging slowly, across her body. From the tilt of her neck to the juncture of her thighs. Villanelle preens, she cannot help it, and spreads herself wider for attention. 

A growl erupts from the woman’s throat and the sound captures her attention, but she soon finds the same mouth working against the juncture of her breasts, pressing with intent. Villanelle moans - a soft, pretty thing she had worked on since she was a Russian schoolgirl, with a tie and skirt to match. 

Eve propels herself forward, her thighs straddling her waist as she keeps mouthing at her breasts. Villanelle resists the urge to grab her thighs and sink her, without forewarning, on to her fake cock. “You drive me insane,  _ Oksana.”  _ Eve murmurs against her left breast, before she latches onto her nipple with her lips. Villanelle giggles. The urge surges in her again. 

Eve wants control, Villanelle reminds herself, biting her lip enough to draw blood. It is good to give it sometimes. 

As if responding to her mental commands, Eve finally sinks into the strap on. She is slower than what Villanelle wants, but the way she rolls her eyes back and the deep shuddering moan appear to be her rewards.

“Look at me, Eve.” 

Eve refuses, for which Villanelle abruptly loses patience and thrusts her hips roughly up in retaliation. “Come on. Look at me.”  After the fourth rough thrust, Eve obeys, staring at her with an intensity that Villanelle must assume is love. She groans, open and loudly in response, and thrusts forward deeply.

Mid-arch, she feels hands creeping up her abdomen, slowly resting against the top of her chest. She opens her eyes, watches with detached amusement as her fingers slide against her throat.

She thrusts deeper. “Want… to kill me now?” There were at least sixteen ways Eve could die beforehand. The thought makes her smirk wider. 

Eve’s gaze bores into her, the blatant hatred makes Villanelle come on the spot. 

**2\. week twelve**

“You look more chipper nowadays.”

Elena springs her the question in the break-room, her mind still drawn to the dingy flat on Brixton where that human enigma was probably pattering around, doing her hair, strategizing her next murder - 

“Excuse me?” Elena stood directly in front of her, staring expectantly at her. Eve blinked. “Uh - uh,” she stuttered. “Yeah,” she salvages with a very high pitched reply, running her hand across her brow. “It’s been, um, a good time with Niko. He’s been more communicative. I mean, we’ve been talking on the phone.”

Elena nods placatingly, reaching across her for a styrofoam cup of shitty coffee. “I’m glad it’s been working out. How long have you guys been together?”

Eve indulges her colleague with more mundane small talk, half out of gratitude and guilt that she found Paris address three weeks ago. And she’s the only semblance of her past life that clings on from her MI5 days. When she heads out of the building hours later, she curses when she realises the pattering of rain and smell of mist in the air.

Niko first met Eve during the pouring rain. The phrase “fish out of water” could not have been better embodied by her twenty-eight year old self, looking bewildered at everything British. Especially the climate.

She had stepped out of MI5 staring at the rain with a flabbergasted expression, which Niko laughed at. He offered her an umbrella and bantered throughout the walk to her flat to make her forget.

Yet Niko was the same man who told her, “People don’t change, Eve.”  Shattering the image of that sweet man in four decisive words. 

She takes a deep breath, walks home to her empty apartment. She drinks to  _ Big Brother  _ reruns without bothering with dinner and falls asleep. 

\---

**3\. week 3**  


When they are done, Eve’s chest shudders as she struggles to contain her breathing, her hair splayed across Villanelle’s face, barely allowing her to breathe. That is at least partly her intention. 

It’s only when strong arms wrap around her shoulder blades and gently manhandle her off the Russian, does she allow herself to breathe in deep gulps of cleansing air. 

“God, it is like you’ve been exorcised.” Villanelle observes with a twinge of judgement. Eve snorts out laughter and flips her sweaty mess of her hair to the side. “You could be a demon, yeah.” She stretches her fingers out, to lightly splay them against the side of her waist. 

Eve squints to seek depth in her eyes, trying to capture some hidden parcel of her psyche. They shimmered, but. “I am simply not there…” Eve murmurs to herself in slight wonder. 

“What?” The slight Russian husk combined with the youthfulness of her expression made Eve shudder slightly. 

She shifts, her wrists aching from holding the weight of her head. She smiles slightly, which Villanelle mirrors exactly in her own face. “It’s a quote? From  _ American Psycho. _ ” 

“Ah, that’s a movie to put on my Netflix list.” She shifted away, closing her eyes in a simulacrum of sleep, hands crossed across chest. 

Eve hummed, wondering if the chirping of the birds outside meant evening. With her eyes closed, she almost looked human. She bit her lip, feeling the thrum of her normal life that pressed impatiently against her desire to stay her.  _ Just you and me.  _

Eve leaned over, pressing her lips against the damp juncture of her neck.  “Baby. I need to go now.” 

She feels her frame stiffen, and an irritated huff of an exhale. “Stay for three more minutes. Or else I’ll chop your boy assistant’s balls off.” 

She laughs dryly into her neck, inhaling her scent. She has long figured out the levity behind her threats. “Fuck you if you do that.

**4\. week six**

“Keep the earrings on.” Villanelle barely lifts her gaze from the television. “Oh, it’s  _ Househunters  _ on now _ ,  _ this is an amazing show.” 

The silk blouse falls to the floor, a puddle of emerald green around her steely pumps; Eve feels something like shame heat her cheeks, but it can’t compare to the heat that’s building between her thighs. 

“Come here.” Villanelle commands, and Eve feels her body moving forward before she can think about it. Eve feels the cool air hit against the outside of her thighs, and shifts uncomfortably in the anticipation. She’s not entirely sure if she’ll be left mortified and standing half-naked on the carpet, but it’s a risk she’s willing to take

Villanelle has the barest slip of a smile, eyes raking her up and down. The best sex Niko and her had was against their living room sofa, wrapping her legs around his torso, fucking herself until the sofa had sprained. The errant memory makes her shiver. Villanelle, meanwhile, seems to have grown distracted of her naked frame, staring intently at the screen instead.

“Now they’re buying a shitty mid-range house in Iowa.  _ Of course.  _ ” She mutters derisively. She spreads her legs wide, and pats her right thigh flippantly. “Here, baby.” 

“Go to hell,” Eve snaps, but feels that heart isn’t in it. She feels herself burning up at the prospect of what Villanelle can give to her. After long, stubborn moments, she licks her lips and walks barefoot across cool marble, centring herself at the base of her thighs. 

“Good.” Villanelle murmurs, and grabs her waist to pull her closer. When Eve refuses, out of sheer and dumb principle, she soon finds Villanelle’s hand tugging at her hair. The pressure stings. 

As if soothing, her knuckles slowly trail the sides of her waist, flit upwards to her chest. “You need to be taught a lesson, darling.”   It’s one am, it’s dark in the hotel room and Eve is going to let herself get mercilessly fucked. She feels these facts throbbing in her veins, searing across the places Villanelle deigns to touch her. Her legs are spread wider now, arms braced against the plush sofa. 

“I think you’ve already-” Eve starts to argue, but the retort is swallowed by another gasp when she realises sharp metal is trailing across her skin, pressing south against her underwear with clear intent. “Oksana,” She gasps as Villanelle strokes the blade softly up and down. “Where did - you even get that?” 

“You know,” Villanelle continues, her eyes half-lidded. She bends low enough to speak into her ear.  “I can do anything I want to you.” Then her nails are treading down Eve’s neck, stroking her neck with the same gentleness she presses the knife against the inside of her thigh. Villanelle’s unblinking gaze softens adoringly.  

Eve distantly admits that this is a terrible way to fall in love, the thought mostly to ignore the surge of warmth coiling in her gut. Villanelle surges forward, branding her neck with her stupid, gorgeous smirk. 

Her fingers replace the knife soon after, once she’s satisfied Eve isn’t trying to wriggle out of position. She cups her underwear without shame, her face splitting into a wide grin when Eve groans into the feel.  

“Soaked through already?” She sighs dreamlike, settling back. “I should have guessed.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Eve responds hoarsely, but her hips cant forward. Her nails remain grazing against the underside of her jaw, trailing down sharp enough no doubt to leave angry red lines. It’s only after Villanelle traces the lines of her collarbone that she returns to her throat, and this time there is no teasing touch, but rather the grasp of petite hands intending to press down hard.

**5\. week one**

She finds herself groaning involuntarily.  “Niko, you shouldn’t have.” The guilt settles heavy in the pit of her stomach, and she clutches the leathered menu tighter. 

Niko grins at her, his eyes creasing in amusement. “I think I should.” He fiddles with the napkins, collar unpopped of his oxford shirt. He slouches back, a casual indifference to the otherwise stiff ambience of the fancy restaurant. 

“It’s our anniversary.” He punctuates his statement with a flourish to the chandeliers hanging above, and the amuse-bouche recently served. 

Eve smiles widely in response, adjusting the hem of her dress. “But, you know this isn’t us.”

“Yeah,” Niko continues with a genial tone, but his smile strains. “I think we deserve this, you know - with a murderous assassin and you almost leaving me.” He tips his wine stem towards her. “We deserve this.”

Eve closes her eyes, and fights indignation rising up her throat. “Yeah,” she responds weakly, raising her own glass. As if in poetic justice, her phone chimes mid-toast. 

She cringes visibly, this time. “I - I have to talk this.” Niko’s expression deflates, but nods acquiescing. She pushes past the familiar guilt and scrambles to get her phone out of her bag. 

**_;):_ ** _ shouldn’t your husband know you hate french  _

**_;):_ ** _ I look better than him in suits. he looks like an ape with moustache _

**_;):_ ** _ come. now. or else he  _

The message is unfinished, but the implication is clear. When she attempts to shoot a reply -  **wtf** \- the message bounces. 

Eve bit her lip. “Niko…” She begins apologetically, but when she looks up he has already thrown his napkin down. 

He waves her off resignedly. “I’ll see you tonight, yeah.”

**6.week sixteen**

Of all the people she expects to find at her doorstep with her discovery, she doubted it would be Kenny first. 

“Hi.” He greets gently, but his jaws flex with tension. 

She feels the sinking in her chest. “Uh, hi.” She wraps her cardigan around herself closer and steps aside to let him in.  Parts of the English hospitality she had half-heartedy picked compel her to walk towards the kitchen. “Would you like some tea?” Her fingers tremble slightly as she opens up some drawers, wonders if she can slip a knife next to a teaspoon with subtlety. 

She hears Kenny moving behind her, draping his coat against her chair. “No, thank you.” He responds with a clipped tone. She turns to see him staring directly at her, the same boyish determination he once used on his formidable mother.  Eve feels herself cringe inwardly with anticipation.

Kenny exhales deeply. “What the fuck are you doing with Oksana?” 

**Author's Note:**

> God bless Phoebe Waller-Bridge for giving us sexually-charged lesbian psychodrama


End file.
